Shattered
by Baffled Queen
Summary: The silence made him angry, but everyone has to break. Logan is no exception.


The silence infuriated him. It was the only thing he'd ever failed at, in recent memory. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get a noise out of the brat. Nothing. Every time he saw the damned man (and a man he was, even if it was only just barely) he was reminded of that one defiance. He could honestly say that it made him angry. Because it _was_ a defiance. A small one, and a passive-aggressive one at that, but it was one nonetheless. He couldn't free himself, and he knew it. So the young man settled for these little 'fuck you's, and held onto them for all he was worth. He hated it. Oh yes, the silence enraged him. For trapped the little shit was, but still- _still_.

There he was, the near-silent man, in all of his 'glory'. Right in front of him. Tied to a chair, beaten, and bloody. Captured. Impotent. But not broken. Not yet. With a frustrated snarl, he drove his fist into his captive's stomach brutally. The force was great enough to earn him a grunt, but he was not appeased. It was a noise he'd heard before. A quiet, almost repressed little sound. It was of little consequence to him, any more. At first he'd been ecstatic at his small victory, but not so much now. He'd gotten those hard-earned noises in the past.

Grunts, when he provided enough incentive, enough power. If he tortured an old wound, he got gasps. Those were his favorite, he would admit. Those quiet little unwilling gasps that he _earned_, even as he wrenched the kid's carefully re-broken arm or smacked and slapped at his bruised, cut up face. Yes, the gasps were his favorite, being that they were much harder gotten then grunts. As he thought about it he toyed absently with the young man, actually rubbing salt in his open wounds.

Still, even though his face pinched in hurt and his teeth were gritted, Logan didn't scream. He had to hand it to Elias' younger son. The kid had balls of steel. He knew first hand how badly this particular 'game' hurt. In fact, he'd been in this very chair many years ago. Those early days, back when he'd been naïve and blind, still gave him nightmares. Despite now knowing the truth, his lesson had been one beaten into him long and hard. He wasn't going to forget it this side of eternity. It had been carved, and burnt, and forced into him until it would never fade. And though he knew it was a necessary evil, his torture, to get him to see the truth- that didn't make it hurt any less.

But that time was long since over, and it was someone else's turn to have a hard lesson drilled into them. Logan's turn. The stupid (unseeing, misunderstanding, still half-_innocent_) kid was such a spitfire, had so much potential. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd be a great ally. Still- they had to get there, first. So, grabbing another handful of salt, he grinned savagely, before giving a long, shallow cut a good scrubbing with the numerous granules of salt. There was a wince before Logan's muscles tensed, but no sound. More defiance.

His grin dropped off his face. A calloused hand collided with the man's cheek, leaving a throbbing red mark. This was no fun. Now a frown was blossoming, marring his already scarred features. "Nothing to say, Junior?" The words were drawled out, his tone patronizing. No outward reaction. With his statement hanging almost awkwardly in the air, he sighed. Logan glared at him silently, a hateful fire gleaming just behind his closed off expression. Still, there was nothing.

It had been five weeks of this: of near silent torture sessions. The grunts who had wasted the first twelve days hadn't managed even as much as he had. He felt slightly better when he thought of that. Their efforts were weak, and the very idea of a textbook interrogation working on a Ghost (or even what passed for one, these days) was laughable. No, not laughable. It was downright ridiculous. He'd been very entertained by the recordings of their attempts. Watching them try and fail to evoke some sort of reaction was hilarious.

They'd stuck to the script, had smacked him around a bit before asking their first question. When they were met with silence they tried threats of bodily harm, or starvation, even isolation. Dumb bastards had almost been gleeful when it looked like the brat was about to crack. He'd been shocked watching the tape the first time around. Then the watery eyes and slightly trembling lower lip had vanished as soon as they'd arrived, and Logan's shoulders had shook with silent laughter. Now a bit angrier then before, they'd threatened his brother, his squad, and his homeland. Still no reaction. Feeling a bit desperate, they'd tried bribes. He'd actually laughed aloud at that one. He knew there was nothing they could offer him that would be worth it to the little punk. Eventually, after repeating the cycle several times to no avail, the 'interrogators' grew unnerved by the total lack of response and had to leave the room.

Frankly, their attempt had been pathetic. It wouldn't have worked on anyone near even Logan's class of soldier (the kid had serious potential, but he wasn't there yet), let alone someone of his own calibre. Shaking his head he returned to the present, the memory having made him feel better. Logan was staring at him, unusually cold brown eyes boring into him hatefully.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the kid's hair and wrenched his head back. After a few second's he exhaled, but there was no other reaction. Drawing his knife, he pressed the flat of the blade to Logan's neck. A twitch. The cool of the metal was pulled away from his skin, and held before his eyes. "I could kill you, you know." He paused, looking a the brat's face, scanning his eyes. Nothing. "It would only take the one cut, if you knew where to put it. I do. You know I do." At this, a dark grin blossomed on the captive's face. 'Do it.' his eyes seemed to say 'I dare you.'

Carefully, he pulled the sharp edge of the blade across the soft skin of the man's neck. Small beads of crimson bubbled up in places, but he was nothing except gentle. A thin line was drawn, from ear to ear, on the lad. A barely-there slice from one side to the other, causing no real damage but leaving a sting. Then he traced another, and another. Logan had three thin lines of blood on his neck, and yet- he sighed.

"You'll have to break eventually, son. Everyone does. Even Ghosts."

This statement must have had some effect, because Logan's eyes flashed. At first he'd thought the younger man angry, but not so. Instead of a snarl, a wry grin slowly formed, until he was showing off bloody teeth. "How do you break something already broken?" The statement was so sudden, so unexpected that it actually caught him off guard. He just stared at the other, disbelieving. "See, if you ground down broken glass even more, all you'd have is dust. You can't fix dust. There's nothing to do about it." Still shocked, he stood absolutely still as he processed the information he'd been given. But Logan wasn't quite done yet.

"All Rorke's resources, and all of his men, couldn't put Logan together again." He singsonged with finality. Silence. For a long minute, there was nothing but the quiet. But then- no. Nothing.

Abruptly, Rorke brought the dull handle of the knife up and slammed it into the kid's temple. The force of the blow would have had a healthy man seeing stars, but on Logan? Beaten, starved, and drugged up Logan? He had no chance. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he went limp in the cold metal chair. Grabbing a clean, wet cloth, he gently cleaned the blood off of his captive, being especially careful with the three slits on his neck. The stillness was mildly unnerving, but he got no change. Not even when he cleaned the salt from the young man's wounds. Instead, he tossed the bloodied rag into a bin and undid the leather cuffs holding him to the chair.

He waited a moment, but when no immediate assistance arrived, he just scooped up the (really, quite small) unconscious kid more gingerly then anyone would have guessed he was capable of being. Holding Logan to his chest with one arm (Jesus, the kid was light), he tugged the door open with his free hand and set off down the hall. Logan would have to learn, one way or another. Since torture wasn't going to work, they'd have to teach him a different way. Logan wasn't going to break; he was already shattered.

* * *

Another fic from my cluttered desk; this one's of a more serious note. I don't know what else to say about it, other then I think i'm improving. There was a lot more time put into this one, and I guess that's that. Eventually, I wanna do a chapter fic, so i'll keep practicing.


End file.
